


Seasons of the Witch

by mischiefgoddesscomplex



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Witchcraft, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Lust, Sex Magic, Witch AU, Witches, trigger warning: execution by fire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:27:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23257657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mischiefgoddesscomplex/pseuds/mischiefgoddesscomplex
Summary: Loki discovers a witch living on Earth, and they always find their way back to each other throughout the centuries (because they just can't keep their damn hands off each other).
Relationships: Darcy Lewis/Loki
Comments: 15
Kudos: 147





	Seasons of the Witch

**Author's Note:**

  * For [peachgalaxy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachgalaxy/gifts).



> credit where credit is due, this fic was inspired by the lovely peachgalaxy's stunning edit:

The first time Loki lays his eyes on her, something shifts. For centuries, he’s wandered Midgard, interacting with unsuspecting humans to break up the mundanity of his life on Asgard. Stirring up mischief whenever and wherever he can, because he can. 

But she is not like other humans. In fact, she’s not entirely human at all. Oh, she could pass as one, alright. Just as much as he could. But the energy around her is almost tangible, her aura vibrating with deep golds and reds. He can taste it. Intoxicating.

And he’s not the only one who’s noticed. 

The year is 1692, the height of a witch-hunt pandemonium in New England, and he first notices her in a small settlement called Salem. He lurks just on the outskirts of the town square, where villagers have gathered in a riot. She stands proud in the center, her shoulders squared back and chin lifted. When the wind blows, it lifts her deep brown curls away from her face, and he recognizes a darkness in her eyes. Hell, he would think she was their leader, if not for the shackles around her wrists.

“Burn the witch!” Someone from the crowd shouts, and it’s met with a chorus of cheers. Oh, now things have gotten very interesting. The mob starts chanting, jeering at the woman, calling for her demise. 

She doesn’t say a word, but there’s a small smile playing on the corner of her lips. _Little minx,_ Loki thinks, watching as the constable pushes her towards the town jail and away from the crowd, _who are you, and what are you hiding?_

He waits until the sun sets to pay her a visit. It’s easy enough to shape-shift into the town constable in order to gain entrance into the jail, and she is currently its only prisoner. This woman is by far the most fascinating creature he’s encountered in centuries, and he is not leaving this town until he gets a moment alone with her.

Loki walks over to her cell, still in disguise. Inside her confinement, the girl lays on a small cot, but sits up curiously at his arrival. Her eyes meet his, and he feels stripped bare. Feels completely seen. His heart-rate quickens in his chest, and can’t remember the last time a woman had this effect on him.

When he phases out of his disguise, his magic shimmering in green and gold around him, she barely bats an eye. Yes, this woman is something else entirely. 

“Can I help you, stranger?” She asks calmly, obviously intrigued.

“What are you?” Loki breathes, leaning against the metals bars of her cell. “Who are you?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” She holds up her shackled wrists, “A witch.”

“And what of your crimes?” Loki asks, eager for her answer.

She tips her head back and laughs, the sound like music. Dark and enchanting. “They found me in the woods,” She finally replies, licking her bottom lip, “Under the blood moon, with one of the married men in town. We witches are full of lust, you know. Unquenchable. Uncontrollable.” 

“No, you’re not like the others,” Loki shakes his head, chuckling darkly, “I’ve been watching these witch hunts. None of the other convicted women have what you have. None wield your powers.” 

Darcy stands up and walks over to her cell door, standing right in front of him. Only the door separates their bodies. She grasps the cool metal bars with both hands, staring up at the handsome and mysterious stranger as she whispers, “And what powers do I have?”

Loki regards her with a soft huff. She’s powerful. Too powerful for this confinement. This is all a game to her. They are cut from the same cloth, her and him. Loki tilts his head down so that their foreheads are nearly touching, only separated by the bars. “The same as mine.”

She bites down on her bottom lip, stopping a small smile from spreading across her face. Looking up at him from underneath her dark lashes, she challenges him, “Why don’t you come in here and prove it to me?”

Loki feels his head swim with lust and excitement. She’s already magicked away her shackles, tossing them off to the side. And when Loki waves his hand to unlock her cell door, she is on him in an instant, all heat and fire and passion and _magic_. Sweet, sweet magic. His body hums in approval.

The next morning, his witch is burned at the stake. As the flame licks around her face, she finds his face in the crowd. A wicked grin splits across her lips, and she winks at him…right before she vanishes into smoke. The crowd murmurs in shock and confusion, but not Loki. He knows this isn’t the last he’ll see of her. 

He finds her, again and again, throughout the centuries. In different cities, different countries. But always the same witch, always casting that same spell of seduction on him she did on that very first night. Their time together together is sacred, days bleeding into passion-fueled nights, and he is lost to her completely: mind, body, and soul. He doesn’t know where she came from, and he doesn’t ask. Some things are better left unexplained. 

The year is now 2020, and he has not seen her in almost a century. It’s been far too long, much longer than usual. He feels like a weary desert traveler, parched, and craving something only she can give him. That is how powerful her magic is. It does wicked, wicked things to his imagination when he cannot be near her. 

It’s Halloween in New Orleans, and the streets in the French Quarter are packed with people. Loki wanders through the area, expertly maneuvering around drunk and rowdy crowds who spill out from bars onto the street. He can feel her special brand of magic in the air tonight, and it draws him to her like a moth to a flame. 

Loki finds her in Jackson Square, of all places. Magicians and fortune tellers and poets and artists all line the sidewalk with their tables here. Crowds of people in costume mill about, drinks in hand, as they wander from table to table. 

She has a tarot card table set up in the southern-most corner of the square. He can’t help but smile when he sees what she is wearing. She’s kicked up her black stiletto boots on the table, and they go fantastically with the black lace dress she’s wearing. What really gets him, though, is the pointed witch hat sat atop her wavy dark hair. 

“And what are you supposed to be?” Loki asks, approaching her table and sitting down across from her. She looks up at his sudden appearance, and he notices the brilliant gold glitter she has applied around her eyes. The makeup makes her look as otherwordly and ethereal on the outside as she is on the inside. And the familiar smile that grows across her lips is one that he knows he will never tire of seeing. 

“Isn’t it obvious?” She gestures with one hand towards the hat. “A witch.”

“A little stereotypical, don’t you think?” He piques one eyebrow. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” She warns him, her tone light, “As a centuries old witch living in New Orleans, I reserve the right to make fun of myself on Halloween every now and then. Plus, I was going for just a little bit sexy.”

“Oh, I never said anything about it lacking sex,” Loki replies darkly, his tone instantly dropping a few octaves. “Which begs the question: is your place nearby?”

“Nuh-uh-uh,” She wags one finger at him playfully, swinging her shoes off the table and sitting up straight, “Not so fast, stranger. You have to get a tarot reading done first.” 

Loki groans ever-so-slightly. Always such a tease. But he loves this regardless, loves every moment he gets to spend with his witch. He watches as she picks up her deck, shuffling it between her palms, the cards flying back and forth. 

A half hour later, and they barely make it past her front door without ripping each other’s clothes off first. Her dark red lipstick has stained his mouth, his neck, and down the front of his chest. He groans against her bedroom door as she pushes him against it, biting and licking her way back up his neck.

“Darling,” He breathes, the lustful fog in his brain lifting for a moment of clarity. She’d had many names throughout the years, and he realized he was unsure how to address her now, “What do you go by these days?”

“Doesn’t matter,” She mewls into the side of his neck, her mouth coming to rest against the shell of his ear, “It’s been too long. Need you out of these clothes, first.”

“It does matter,” Loki says softly, tipping her chin with one finger and guiding her mouth towards his own. He swallows her breathy sigh with a kiss, then rasps against her lips, “I want to be able to call out your name in ecstasy. I need you to know just exactly what your witchcraft does to me. What only you can do to me.”

She blushes a shade he doesn’t think he’s ever seen on her before, in all these centuries. It’s positively adorable. She bats her lashes at him, biting her lip coyly as she whispers, “Darcy.”

“Darcy,” He rolls the name on his tongue, tasting it, letting it settle in. With her wild hair and loud mouth and dark eyes and magic coursing through her veins…the name suits her impeccably. 

“What?” She asks between kissing the corners of his mouth, “You don’t like it? I can change it, but I thought —”

“My love,” He growls, sweeping her up in his arms in a passionate kiss and laying her back on the bed, “It is positively magic.”


End file.
